Look in my eyes and find there peace

Chapter 1

Another dose of smoke whistled into my lungs. People didn't even glance at me. Because who cares that some shit whipster kills his lungs. They were probably in a hurry to get home before dark. I preferred to wait, just like every day. Exactly at three o'clock, I stood outside Stanley's shop. For a fairly small amount, he always sells me an L&M package. It was enough for me until 10 pm. I am smoking the last one. I didn't have a great desire to return home early. I knew how it would end; screams, curses, and my father's favorite belt. He and his mother broke down after work, father just loved his little game "how many times do you have to hit him to make him faint". Yes, I am a coward, I wouldn't go home until its late. Yes, I do smoke to kill my emotions.

Last time I caught smoke in my lungs and put out my cigarette. It meant it was time to come back. I put both hands in my pocket and set the course for the house. Deep down, I hoped they both were sleeping. That would mean less trouble. The neighbors suspected so badly. I may shut up and not scream, but my father can't stop himself. They knocked many times and asked if I was all right looking for signs of violence. They were just worried, they wanted to help, right? Miraculously they did not notice anything, I did not have great difficulty hiding bruises. After all, I wouldn't want to go to an orphanage, they think I'm a weirdo at school, they don't say it out loud but I see how they look at me. 

Ten minutes left to the end of the road, to the end of freedom, to the end of life. People say that home is a place where we feel safe and loved. Returning from school it is the first thing you want to see. For me, it is hell in person. I will just cross its threshold and feel like I'm dying. If I told someone, he would tell me to grow up: get a grip and live on. Others are worse off. And yes, this someone has installments, I feel sorry for myself and I know it is a selfish way of thinking. But do I have any other way out? I'd like to have a normal life like the others. No psychic parents, just free.

 Inhale, exhale. Like a scene from a horror movie. The victim stood in front of the door behind which the murderer lurks and his prey murdered as soon as he passes through it. I turned the key and pushed the door slightly. As I entered I was immediately hit me a sound of TV being strangled by loud snoring, I breathe a sigh of relief and start climbing to my room. 

My room was the only reasonably clean room in this house. I didn't have many things. The double bed was pushed evenly in the middle of the shorter sides of the walls. Opposite him was a small cabinet with books and next to it a desk with a fairly large window. I had only one wardrobe. It stood in front of the door, it had two drawers at the bottom and there were two pairs of doors at the top. All the furniture was light brown. They did not look neat, were slightly damaged as they were not bought furniture. Once upon a time, when I was returning home, they were based on someone's dumpster, I took them with a little thought. Before them, I had only a bed. The bed was bought before my birth. Parents were not always like that. When I was seven years old my father and mother started drinking, honestly, I never knew for what. 

I started to undress. Finally, I deserve a rest too. I didn't want to go to wash because the sound of flowing water could wake them up and I won't risk it. I slowly slipped off my clothes and put on black sleeping shorts. I do not hide it is not my favorite hour of the day. It is difficult for me to fall asleep and at such moments various unwanted thoughts come to head. 

I ran my hand through my hair and hit the bed. Another day spent behind me. Covering myself with the duvet, I began to analyze today. It wasn't that bad. Finally, I entered the house unnoticed, my head sank into a soft pillow. I looked blindly at the ceiling. Silence. It seemed too quiet. I grabbed my stomach; I haven't eaten since the morning. Breakfast was the only meal I had on the day. Eight was the only hour when I was alone at home. Father and mother always went out to their so-called work: begging, walking in the den and visiting a homeless shelter at seven. They always came back at three o'clock, which I found out on Saturday. The only really working person was me. Our house did not seem luxurious. The kitchen, living room, garden and bathroom downstairs and the bathroom and my room upstairs. They removed me a hundred pounds a month. For a week I earned fifty pounds from the waiter's salary. It was not enough. Subtracting the rent for the house plus food for a month I was fifteen pounds and when I got a tip it reached up to thirty. I gave my parents nothing, at least not of my own free will. My father came into my room and told me to give him money, finally when he gave up, he will start looking for cash himself. He never found more than five pounds. My mother didn't bother me too much, there were days when she would yell at me and even hit me, but she didn't grow up to my father's feet.

 I turned to the other side. The worst memories always haunted me at this time of day. Another breath, Exhale. Once again I grabbed my bare stomach. Bruises only from yesterday started to show off, they are the worst at the weekend. I clenched my eyelids with all my strength. Why can't it end? There is no stronger poison than humans' minds. I just want to be ... Dreams are also human stupidity. We're so easily framed up believing that there is more than death. For some, however, it is a way of escaping, thinking that it might be better, to improve their mood. Why believe in impossible things. Why delude yourself with your life, it's better just to give up. Despite my own words, I tried to fight, for unexplained reasons I still wanted to live. Give myself hope that one day it will be better. No, I don't hate life. I just hate myself. There must be something left for me. Every time my mother and father hit me for a moment, I feel like I would give up, and I don't want to, right? I looked into the future for a moment. I can see myself. Satisfied with my wife and two children. I smiled in spirit, there could have been many pictures, it could have been me as a billionaire, or me while I was surfing in sea, it could be anything I wanted to. Now the smile appeared wide on my face. Dreams ... what a naive thing.